The Hobbit An Untold Journey
by Telcontar1420
Summary: When Bilbo first wrote his memoirs, it is well known that he wasn't entirely truthful with reference to the finding of the Ring of Power. As it turns out, this wasn't the only detail in need of correction... Chapters published each weekend.
1. Prologue

"In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit."

Bilbo paused, his hand suspended over the creamy first page of the Red Book of Westmarch. How to begin? This time he wanted to write the truth, to tell everything exactly as it had happened, and his lips moved in silent apology to those who had heard a different version of the tale before he touched the tip of his quill to the paper once more.

Barely three lines of elegant, slanted handwriting darkened the page when Bilbo stopped. He could not have continued without dipping the quill into the ink-pot, which sat full in its place on the top right of the sloped writing desk, but it wasn't ink the hobbit was missing. He needed to find, from somewhere, the courage that he had long ago allowed to slip away. There had been a time, nearly fifty years ago, when he had been capable of great feats and brave deeds, but since his return to the quiet Shire, things had changed.

No, Bilbo thought. In truth the first change had come when he had chosen to leave; everything that had happened since his return had been a continuous process of learning to live the settled life of a hobbit. He dried the tip of the quill and sat back in his chair of carved oak, so deep in memory he did not notice the scent of Longbottom Leaf that announced the arrival of two of Bilbo's closest companions.

Frodo, nephew and heir to Bilbo, poked his head around the study door. Bilbo jumped when he caught Frodo's reflection out of the corner of his eye, flashing in the round window as the real Frodo stepped forward. Hurriedly Bilbo snapped the Red Book shut. "Back already, my lad?" he asked.

"Uncle, I've been gone most of the day," Frodo laughed. He was clearly in a merry mood and, as Bilbo wondered where the day had gone, Frodo gestured to indicated that Bilbo should stand up. "He's here!" Frodo said, catching on to the fact that Bilbo wasn't completely focused on the present.

"Who's here?" Bilbo was a little annoyed at being interrupted in his writing, and didn't consider that he hadn't put a single word on paper in some time.

"Who? Gandalf, of course!"

In a flash, Bilbo remembered. In less than a week, he would reach the age of one hundred and eleven years old. Frodo would turn thirty-three on the same day, and Gandalf had come to help arrange the celebrations, both public and private. Bilbo glanced at the desk before standing up. In addition to the Red Book, there were stacks of letters, all replies to party invites.

It occurred to Bilbo as he followed Frodo along the tunnel-like passageway to the dining room that one hundred and eleven was a good age for a hobbit, but at that moment he felt both older and younger. The feeling of great age had sparked private preparations for retirement and Bilbo was determined to continue his plan for a quiet journey to Rivendell, but when he thought of the wizard now rising to greet him, Bilbo remembered what it was to be young.

Gandalf was as tall and thin as Bilbo remembered. He was dressed in the same grey cloak and his pointed hat rested on a chair in the corner. The wizard filled most of the living room and did not stand to his full height even before he bent down to hug the hobbit.

"My dear Bilbo," Gandalf said, with warmth in his voice that made the old hobbit's eyes mist. "It's good to see you, and looking so well."

When Bilbo found his voice, he found his manners as well. "Can I offer you tea? Or something stronger? Wine, perhaps, or a mug of ale? A biscuit, or a pie? Some cheese?"

"No, thank you," Gandalf smiled. "But help yourself, if you feel the need."

Bilbo did feel the need. Supplied by Frodo with ale and pork pies, the two old friends sat down to the serious business of planning the long-expected party.

It wasn't until late that evening that Bilbo returned to his study and gently opened the front cover of the Red Book. This time he had no difficulty in telling his tale.


	2. Chapter 01

**Chapter One**

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Bilbo Baggins, of Bag End, enjoyed a simple life, a small garden and an extravagant home in the Westfarthing of the Shire. He lived alone, fond of the comforts of his hole, and fond too of its pantries, but he liked to entertain visitors and prided himself on being an exceptional host. It was late morning, and on this day Bilbo had no reason to expect company. He was sitting on a bench outside his front door, smoking a pipe of Old Toby and composing what he called poetry, when he noticed a stranger walking up Bagshot Row.

This was no ordinary stranger. From the height of him, this was one of the Big Folk, made even taller than necessary by the kind of pointed hat worn only, Bilbo realised, by wizards. He quickly shoved his notebook into his waistcoat pocket. The stranger continued up the hill, drawing closer until he reached the picket fence surrounding Bilbo's front lawn.

Bilbo stood up. "Good morning," he said. It would never do to appear anything but polite to a wizard.

"Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good on this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?" the wizard asked.

Bilbo had no reply. For a moment he stood, open mouthed, feeling uncomfortably as though he had to say something, anything. "All of them at once," he said, and the two exchanged pleasantries.

Bilbo was only mildly discomforted until the stranger said, "I've been looking for someone to share in an adventure." At that point, there was nothing Bilbo could do except send the wizard on his way. As quickly as possible, the hobbit steered the conversation in the direction he wished.

"We don't want any adventures here, thank you. You might try over the Hill or across the Water," he suggested.

"Now you mean that you want to get rid of me." The wizard cut straight through Bilbo's attempt to head him off.

"Not at all," Bilbo said, trying his best not to sound rude. "I don't think I know your name," he added, sure that angering a wizard could come to no good end and desiring nothing more than to finish the encounter as soon as possible.

"You do know my name, though you don't remember that I belong to it. I am Gandalf."

Bilbo thought back to his childhood, and a memory floated into his mind of an old man, cloaked and wearing a pointed hat, with a staff much the same as the one this stranger carried. He remembered fireworks and tales told by firelight, and magic. Bilbo wasn't sure if he was less worried now, or more. The man in front of him seemed no older than the man in his childhood memory, and he set about trying to discern the truth of the matter.

For a few more minutes they talked, until Gandalf said, completely out of the blue, "I shall go so far as to send you to this adventure."

At this point, with no concern for behaving decently, Bilbo muttered a few polite nothings and bounced back inside his front door, which he shut quickly behind him.

Once safely inside his cosy hobbit hole, Bilbo put the entire unpleasant episode out of his mind. He sat at his desk, eating a second breakfast of eggs and bacon and concentrating on the poetry he had been working on, until it was time for lunch. At that point, he had entirely forgotten the morning's events. That afternoon he spent several hours in the garden tending to his vegetable patch, which every hobbit keeps growing all year round, then enjoyed fresh home grown carrots and potatoes with his dinner. He sat in front of the fire, smoking his pipe, completely content, until bedtime.

The following day, Bilbo remembered nothing of his encounter with the wizard. He spent the day in happy oblivion, not at all considering that Gandalf would actually send him on a real adventure. What would be the point? Hobbits as a rule are not fond of adventures, and the ones who are tend to be looked upon as something of an oddity. Farming, smoking pipe weed and drinking ale are much more suitable ways of passing the time, in the opinion of nearly all hobbits. Eating is a much more pleasant way to pass time in the opinion of every hobbit, and although adventures make for a fine tale, they also make their heroes late for dinner.

The very notion of a hobbit doing something unexpected and possibly dangerous was enough to make the hair on Bilbo's feet curl even tighter than it already was. He had not liked Gandalf's suggestion and, had he realised he had forgotten it, he would have been pleased at his lack of memory.

Bilbo had a very normal day. He went to the market in Bywater to sell carrots and buy broad beans then ate lunch in the Green Dragon inn with several acquaintances. He spent the afternoon working on the same poem as the day before and was close to finishing it when his stomach told him it was time for dinner. He was determined to complete the composition and put the kettle on, thinking he would settle for a cup of tea now and a chicken and mushroom pie later on in the evening.

Bilbo, like any hobbit, loved mushrooms. He never sold the mushrooms he had in the pantry, and often went off in search of new patches of wild ones. Tonight, he thought, he deserved a treat for completing his latest poem.

"Though it was day, to her surprise, they all went back to bed," he finally wrote, finishing the last verse with a flourish of his quill before cleaning the tip and stowing it safely away in a little drawer. He was on the way to the pantry, his mind on mushrooms, when the doorbell rang.


	3. Chapter 02

**Chapter Two**

Bilbo froze. He wasn't expecting company and had no idea why anybody would be calling on him until he recalled that in his attempts to rid himself of Gandalf the night before, he had offered to have the wizard to dinner. The words, which had left his mouth without his permission, had come back to bite him.

The first move Bilbo made once the shock had worn off was to the pantry, the second to the front door. He opened it, expecting to see Gandalf stooping to enter the hobbit hole, and was quite disconcerted to see that the visitor wasn't Gandalf at all. The stranger was a dwarf, that much was obvious from his height, build and beard.

"Dwalin, at your service," the dwarf said, bowing low. Bilbo returned the words and the bow, not daring to ask what the dwarf was doing on his front porch. The visitor was about a foot taller than the hobbit, he wore a fierce expression and carried twin axes; Bilbo dared not protest as Dwalin stepped inside.

The visitor shrugged his pack off his shoulders, leaving the weapons strapped to his back. Before Bilbo could do anything more than reach out to catch the pack, the dwarf had hung his cloak on a peg by the door and marched off towards the dining room. Bilbo placed the pack gently underneath the cloak, struggling with the weight but careful not to let it land heavily and damage the floor.

Bilbo hurried up the passageway to find Dwalin finishing the last of the cakes he had set out for Gandalf. Before he knew what had happened, the dwarf was cleaning the plate that the hobbit had prepared earlier for his own dinner. Only a few bones remained; the dwarf had just speared the last of the potatoes on the end of his knife when the doorbell rang again.

"Please excuse me," Bilbo said. They were the first words he had been able to speak in several minutes. The poor hobbit felt rather uncomfortable; it would have been rude to refuse the guest some refreshment or to inquire about his business. As for putting Dwalin back out of the comfortable hole and sending him on his way, that should have been unthinkable. It was a fact, however, that the thought had crossed Bilbo's mind.

Dwalin nodded and filled his mouth with potato all at the same time. The dwarf too hadn't spoken more than necessary and seemed to have no issue with his host disappearing down the corridor, or so Bilbo thought.

Still expecting Gandalf, Bilbo was surprised to find a second dwarf on his doorstep. This one was shorter than Dwalin, and had a full head of grey hair to match his long beard. He also had a smile and his eyes twinkled as he said, "Balin, at your service."

"Bilbo Baggins at yours," the hobbit replied correctly. He turned at the noise of heavy boots behind him to see that Dwalin had left the table.

"Brother!" the dwarves greeted each other, then to the complete astonishment of the hobbit they reached forwards to grip each other's shoulders and head butted. The crack of their skulls echoed as Balin hung up his cloak and laid down his pack. All at once, the hobbit was forgotten. The two brothers, for brothers they indeed were, traipsed off up the hallway to the pantry. Bilbo followed, an ominous feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

All the same, Bilbo decided, it was rather rude of the dwarves to help themselves to whatever food they wanted, without the slightest consideration that the hobbit might regain his appetite and decide to eat at some point in the future. It was something of a surprise to the hobbit to realise that he wasn't hungry, and a bit of a worry. Bilbo couldn't remember the last time he had been uninterested in food at a mealtime.

For the next half an hour, Bilbo watched the dwarves demolish a joint of gammon, several potatoes, a bowl full of vegetables and two mugs of ale. If he hadn't seen the meal Dwalin had eaten before Balin arrived, Bilbo would have assumed that neither dwarf had seen food for hours at the very least. They ignored the hobbit, who in all honesty paid very little attention to the conversation they were having. He concentrated more on trying to remember what else he had in the pantry and how many more mugs of ale the dwarves could drink before he would have to open a new barrel.

Bilbo excused himself, this time receiving a smile with his nod from Balin, and went to fetch himself an ale. The prospect of eating didn't seem inviting, but Bilbo hoped a drink would help settle his stomach. By the time he returned from the cellar, the pantry had clearly been raided again. It took Bilbo a moment to notice that all of his plates were stacked up at the end of the long table and his mood didn't improve at the sight.

How many more dwarves, exactly, were Balin and Dwalin expecting? He had almost made up his mind to ask when the doorbell rang for a third time. Trying exceptionally hard to remember his manners and not to curse, Bilbo headed out of the dining room yet again. This time two dwarves stood on the threshold, both at least a foot taller than the hobbit, around Dwalin's height but much younger. These two wore their beards shorter than their older companions did.

"Fili and Kili, at your service," the two newcomers bowed in unison. This time Bilbo could no nothing more than step back and allow them to enter. His voice seemed utterly to have failed him. Kili, darker of hair and much fairer of face than is typical of dwarves, led his older brother into the hobbit hole, where they both deposited cloaks, packs and weapons into his arms.

Bilbo wanted to ask why the dwarves were making themselves at home in his hole and if it was normal for them to carry so many axes, swords and knives, but his voice still hadn't returned. He searched for suitable places to leave the collection of abandoned items and returned to the dining room. Several platters of food and his entire stock of mugs had joined the plates on the table. Bilbo's feeling of trepidation could hardly increase any more, but it did so as the doorbell rang for a fourth time.


	4. Chapter 03

**Chapter Three**

Bilbo was so unsettled by this point that he strode over to the door, barely aware that despite his attempts to be a polite and accommodating host, he was shouting at the top of his lungs. He wrenched the door open and too many dwarves to count fell onto the mat just inside. Not one of them bothered scraping their boots once they had stood up, and not one so much as pretended to offer service. Smiling down at the hobbit from above the heap of dwarves as they scrambled to their feet, Gandalf looked as if everything was going exactly according to plan. This only irritated Bilbo further and, following the dwarves' lack of manners, he neglected to welcome a single one of the visitors.

Before Bilbo knew which way was up, his hole had been overrun. Dwarves scurried here and there, carrying furniture into the dining room and emptying the pantry of everything that was edible, drinkable or could be smoked in a pipe. Gandalf stood in the hallway, stooping slightly so as not to bang his head on the ceiling, as Bilbo thumped the door closed.

The hobbit ignored the pile of cloaks, weapons, packs and a random flute that had been dumped underneath the pegs where Dwalin, Balin, Kili and Fili's cloaks were already hanging. He snatched a delicate doily right out of a large Dwarvish hand, squeaking that it wasn't a dishcloth, then forcibly turned one dwarf who was attempting to carry an antique chair into the dining room, apparently with the intention of sitting on it. The dwarf put the chair back, complaining, and Bilbo noticed the steady stream of food, drink and pipe weed leaving the pantry.

Bilbo remembered his manners just enough to say, "Have you got a cheese knife?" to one exceptionally round dwarf who must have been nearly as wide as he was tall. The dwarf was carrying three blocks of cheese, and didn't take the trouble to reply.

"A cheese knife?" another of the dwarfs asked. "He eats it by the block."

It was lucky for Bilbo that the dwarves worked quickly. In fact, they were a remarkably efficient group, and they had several tables shoved together, covered with mounds of food and surrounded by chairs in short order. The hobbit dropped into a spare chair at the end of the table and watched, unnoticed, as the visitors devoured his meats, cheeses, bread, pies, pastries, cakes and everything else they had found. The one thing left was a blue-veined cheese, which sat on the floor receiving the odd suspicious glance from the dwarf who had thrown it there. Bilbo didn't mind that the cheese was getting more attention than he was; he was too busy trying to calculate the cost of the damage whilst seeming to be a generous host. His generosity, it seemed, stretched just far enough to prevent him throwing the whole rowdy gathering out of the window.

The noise was unbelievable. Several of the dwarves amused themselves, between bites of Bilbo's home grown potatoes and vegetables, by throwing grapes at Bombur, the large red-bearded dwarf who had indeed demolished two blocks of cheese in addition to many other things. Every time Bombur successfully caught the grape in his mouth, the other dwarves would cheer. It seemed to Bilbo that Bombur was far too proficient at this game for his own good.

Even when the cheers died down, there was still too much noise for Bilbo's liking. He was used to nothing more than the fire crackling in the hearth and the sweet sound of the pouring rain on the windows; the shouts and laughs were enough to make him cower in his seat. Gandalf, on the contrary, watched the gathering with the same amused smile he had worn since first entering the hobbit hole. He ate and drank little, and did so in a more refined manner than the dwarves, who seemed to think that anything they didn't devour immediately would be somehow lost.

The only peace came on the occasions when somebody called for a round. Somehow, and Bilbo had no idea how, all the dwarves heard the call every single time. All thirteen would upend and drain their tankards of ale together, giving a brief respite from all sounds except for the glugging of liquid and several loud, rather distasteful, burps.

This was almost too much for the hobbit. He was very close to saying something, but what could he say? Even if he'd tried, he doubted that any of the dwarves would pay him the slightest bit of attention. Even if they did, what could he say? He only broke his silence when the platters of food were almost completely clear and several of the dwarves began playing with his knives. They seemed to think it a good sport, but Bilbo wasn't impressed.

"Don't do that, you'll blunt them," he pleaded, and to his surprise the dwarves caught his voice amidst theirs.

"You hear that, lads? He says we'll blunt the knives!"

There was nothing Bilbo could do but stand and watch. The dwarves began singing merrily with deep voices and the hobbit looked on, horrified, as they completely ignored his protest.

Two of the dwarves played musical accompaniments to the singing and the rest began throwing Bilbo's cutlery and crockery around the table. Gandalf, who joined in neither singing nor throwing, nonetheless looked amused. Bilbo was horrified. They were bound to break every last plate and dish and bend all his forks if they didn't stop! He couldn't seem to make his voice work, and after the first very feeble protest Bilbo sat back down, feeling faint. Maybe it was because he hadn't eaten his supper, maybe he had used too much energy earlier running round after the visitors as they organised his dining room to suit themselves, but he now had a light head as well as a misplaced appetite.

The song ended and the dwarves sat down. Bilbo, peeking between his fingers, saw that his cutlery and crockery sat in neatly stacked piles at the end of the table.


	5. Chapter 04

**Chapter Four**

Bilbo was surprised, and more than a little pleased, that no damage had been done to his antique crockery during the dwarves' dinner. The youngest of the visitors, a slight, red-haired dwarf named Ori, carried the stacks of plates and bowls from the dining room and out of sight, presumably to leave them by the sink for Bilbo to wash up. He was supervised by the older, grey-bearded and ever-calm Dori, who just happened to be Ori's older brother, and once again Bilbo found himself sitting and watching the proceedings. Nobody noticed the middle brother, Nori, slipping a few of Bilbo's silver spoons into his pocket.

The dwarves might have eaten all of Bilbo's food, but there was no shortage of drink; the ale flowed freely and Bilbo noticed that the dwarves were able to tolerate several more mugs than he himself would have done, had he had an appetite for eating and drinking. They were loud and at times behaved in ways that were perfectly unacceptable in polite company, but they had been so since before the barrels in the cellar had been raided. It was incredible, too, how quickly they all fell silent mid-sentence when a thumping sound echoed from down the hallway.

"He is here," Gandalf stated quietly. Bilbo gave a jump; in all the confusion caused by the dwarves he had almost forgotten that there was a wizard in the party. Both hobbit and wizard stood up and hurried towards the front door, Bilbo wondering how Gandalf's "he" could inspire such respect in the irreverent dwarves.

Fili and Kili followed Bilbo, but the others remained in the dining room. Bilbo thought he saw Ori duck behind his two brothers, his cheeky grin now vanished, but didn't turn back to look. The ominous feeling that had started in the pit of his stomach seemed to be spreading all the way up into his chest.

It was Gandalf who reached the door first, and Gandalf who opened it. Unlike the earlier occasions when Bilbo had himself opened the door in the last of the daylight, he could make out no more than a shadowy shape on the threshold. It was now dark, the moon hidden behind a blanket of cloud, and the only lights came from the windows of hobbit holes down the Hill.

The stranger appeared to be slimmer than most of his companions, and of above average height for a dwarf, though not by much. Bilbo had nothing to refer to except the twelve already in his hole, but the newcomer was as tall as any other than Dwalin.

Bilbo hung back, awkward, as Gandalf gestured for the dwarf to step inside. All questions as to why this gathering was taking place inside his hole were forgotten as Bilbo's complete attention became focused on the stranger. He wanted to be polite, to welcome the newcomer properly, but he couldn't seem to move his feet to walk forwards or move his lips to speak.

The dwarf stepped into the light. As if his movement had freed Bilbo to do the same, the hobbit found himself able to place one foot in front of the other. He found that the top of his curly hair barely reached the stranger's chin, which was covered in a shorter stubble than many of his companions' elaborate beards.

Bilbo looked up into the dwarf's eyes but couldn't hold his gaze, and nor could he yet speak. It was the dwarf who broke the silence, and to nobody's surprise he completely ignored the hobbit. "Gandalf. I thought you said this place would be easy to find. Wouldn't have found it at all had it not been for that mark on the door."

The last vestiges of Bilbo's politeness vanished, but he can perhaps, be forgiven after the events of the evening. "There's no mark on that door!" he protested.

"There is a mark, I put it there myself," Gandalf interrupted firmly. "Bilbo Baggins, let me introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield."

Bilbo looked from the wizard to the dwarf, then back to the wizard again before his gaze settled on Thorin. His close kinship to Fili and Kili was plain in his face, which was less sharp-featured and more mature, but otherwise very similar to theirs. Bilbo found himself captivated, following the lines around Thorin's eyes and thinking that they didn't diminish his good looks but added to them. He was rugged and looked to be completely comfortable with the large pack on his back.

"Pardon me?" Bilbo squeaked, suddenly aware that he had missed the first words Thorin had addressed to him.

"Axe or sword? What is your weapon of choice?"

Bilbo couldn't come up with a sensible response. The correct answer would have been that he preferred neither, and wanted nothing to do with a weapon of any kind or a situation in which one might be needed. He didn't think this would impress Thorin, however, and he found himself wanting to do so. He felt the need to say something witty, and was horrified when he heard himself speak. "Well, I have some skill at conkers, if you must know."

As Bilbo expected, Thorin wasn't impressed. "He looks more like a grocer than a burglar," he said to Gandalf, not bothering to reply to Bilbo himself, and strode off towards the dining room with Fili and Kili. The wizard followed, leaving Bilbo to tag along behind.

A burglar? Why was Thorin comparing him to a burglar? At any other time, Bilbo would have been quite offended. As it was, he was confused, miserable and, although he didn't want to admit it to himself, a little interested in the dwarves' business.

There was no noise coming from the dining room, which Bilbo would have been grateful for if he had noticed it. He watched Thorin as best as he could, looking through the space between Gandalf's legs as he hurried to keep up. He was a little annoyed with the dwarf's dismissal of him but mostly intrigued in a way that he hadn't expected when he had first heard the knock on his front door.


	6. Chapter 05

**Chapter Five**

When Bilbo slipped into the dining room and squashed himself into the smallest chair, he found the dwarves to be far more focused and serious than they had been prior to Thorin's arrival. He would have marvelled at the difference if he hadn't been so relieved at the far more civilised behaviour. All attention, other than Bilbo's own, was directed towards Thorin; even Gandalf leaned forward to listen closely.

"They will not come," Thorin said, and his voice rang clearly in the silence. It was deep, but not as harsh as when he had pronounced his judgement on Bilbo. There was some murmuring of disappointment from the assembled dwarves, but the wizard and hobbit did not speak or move. "They say this quest is ours alone," Thorin continued, and the moment he parted his lips to speak, the other dwarves fell back to listening again.

Holding his companions' gazes in turn, Thorin began to sing, and one by one the dwarves joined in with him, each adding his own quality to the song. It was completely different from what they had sung before, even Bilbo (who much preferred poetry) could tell that from just the words. This time there was no instrumental accompaniment, no laughter, no movement, nothing but raw longing. Bilbo could never later remember more than the first verse, but that stuck in his head rather too well.

_Far over the Misty Mountains cold, to dungeons deep and caverns old, we must away ere break of day, to seek the pale enchanted gold._

As for the rest, Bilbo had only a vague recollection. He stared openly at Thorin's face as the dwarf sang of the coming of the dragon, of fire and destruction, of the way the dwarves had left their home. The hobbit found himself more than merely interested in Thorin's business now, and very much wanted to know the words of the song so that he could join in, could become a part of the mesmerising harmony. Ten, even five, minutes ago, he wouldn't have thought it possible, but more than anything he wanted to become a part of the group.

It didn't seem that Thorin had noticed Bilbo watching him, for which Bilbo was grateful. His well-developed hobbit sense was fighting with a growing desire (no doubt fuelled by the influence of his Took ancestors) to accompany Thorin, to protect him, to help him reclaim the home the dwarves had lost.

The discussion proper began as soon as the song had ended, and Bilbo was eventually given answers to some of his questions, but not before a rather embarrassing episode of light-headedness which turned into a faint at the thought that Thorin would quite possibly not survive the upcoming adventure. It was all Thorin's fault, Bilbo thought, but he wasn't at all angry. Had Thorin not started talking about how none of them other than Gandalf returning from the adventure, then Bilbo wouldn't have fainted. He didn't feel anything other than shame, and nothing but his pride was hurt, so he sat quietly in front of the fire in the drawing room, listening through the open doorway and thinking.

The dwarves' purpose, to reclaim their ancient city of Erabor inside the Lonely Mountain, was becoming clearer with every word spoken. There was still no explanation of why they had all gathered at Bag End and eaten all of Bilbo's food, but Bilbo wasn't stupid. Hobbits can be lazy and they can be slow, but when put to it, many have intelligence and bravery that few other peoples expect. Bilbo had the strong suspicion, mostly because of Thorin's earlier comment regarding burglars, that the dwarves had somehow cast him in that role. Or, far more likely, Gandalf had done so.

"If it had not been for the sign on the door," Bilbo heard, "I would have been sure we had come to the wrong house." It wasn't Gandalf or Thorin speaking, but Bilbo couldn't work out which of the other dwarves it was. "As soon as I clapped eyes on the little fellow bobbing and puffing on the mat I had my doubts." This didn't help Bilbo, who had bowed politely every time the door had opened until the arrival of Thorin himself, work out who was speaking, but the hobbit didn't care.

All the terror that Bilbo had felt seemed to disappear, and he became angry. Who dared ridicule him in front of Thorin? And in Bilbo's own dining room, after eating from his own pantry, no less! He jumped up, no longer even a little dizzy, and strode through the door to where the dwarves were talking and drinking.

"I am quite sure you have come to the wrong house," he said loudly, and it was in a completely different tone to anything the dwarves had yet heard from him. They had thought Bilbo overly polite and quiet to the point of being comical, if they had thought at all, but now they saw something more and fell quiet. "As soon as I saw your funny faces on the doorstep I had my doubts," Bilbo continued, and Thorin looked him up and down, obviously re-evaluating. "But tell me what you want done and I will try it."

Bilbo wasn't sure what made him say it. He would have been far more comfortable staying in his drawing room until the dwarves had left. Still, he looked Thorin in the eye as he spoke and when he made the offer, it was genuine. He was fully aware he would regret it immediately; indeed he regretted it slightly even before he had finished his sentence. Something in Thorin's calculating gaze made him want to prove himself, and Bilbo took a seat at the table.

"Let's have no more argument," Gandalf broke in. "I have chosen Mr. Baggins and that ought to be enough for all of you. If I say he is a burglar then a burglar he is. There is a lot more in him than you guess and a deal more than he has any idea of himself."

Bilbo didn't like to disagree with the wizard, so he said nothing as Gandalf unrolled a piece of parchment to reveal a map.


	7. Chapter 06

**Chapter Six**

"The Lonely Mountain," Bilbo read, speaking out loud without realising it. His eye had been drawn straight to the centre of the map, where a red figure curled around the black outline of a single peak. The figure was a dragon. He remembered that a dragon had featured in the song the dwarves had just sung; now he began to understand that the lyrics had been accurate. But surely the same beast couldn't still be there now, so many years later? He would have to add that to the constantly growing list of questions he wanted answered.

"I don't see that this will help us much," Thorin said, indicating the map. "I remember the Mountain well enough, and the lands about it." He sounded disappointed, but not surprised. Bilbo risked a quick glance at Thorin, who looked more determined than his tone suggested.

There is one point you haven't noticed," Gandalf pointed out. "That is the secret entrance." Bilbo and the dwarves all leaned forward, watching attentively as the wizard's finger brushed the parchment. Gandalf indicated several lines of runes; although Bilbo knew his letters and put them to good use, he didn't recognise these Dwarvish characters. A nasty suspicion formed in his mind as he put together the hidden door and his role as a burglar, but Bilbo tried to focus on what his companions were saying.

"How do we know it is secret?" Thorin asked, and it took Bilbo a few seconds to realise that he was talking about the door. "Smaug has lived there long enough to find out everything there is to know."

"He can't have used it," Gandalf said. "It is too small. 'Five feet high the door and three may walk abreast," say the runes."

Bilbo didn't entirely agree with this. "It seems a great big hole to me," he said. His voice came out somewhat higher than he intended, and he hoped, somewhat desperately, that Thorin wouldn't notice. "How could such a large door be kept secret from everybody?" he asked, more confidently than before.

"In lots of ways." It was the wizard who answered, and Bilbo wondered for a moment if there was anything Gandalf didn't know. "I forgot to mention," Gandalf said, fishing in an inside pocket of his robes, "That with this map went a key." He handed it over to Thorin, who turned it over and over, examining it in the light of Bilbo's lamp.

Bilbo listened as the dwarves discussed how they might get to the Mountain, the best routes to take and places to avoid, but he had nothing to add to the conversation until Thorin turned and asked for Bilbo's opinion. The hobbit couldn't tell if the dwarf was joking or not, but chose to reply as if the enquiry had been serious. "First I should like to know a bit more about things," he began, but he had barely got the words out before a general uproar meant that nothing else he said would be heard.

It was some time before Bilbo managed to convince the dwarves to give him a full account of their business, and several times they accused him of not listening. He tried his best to be courteous but official with his requests for further information, which must have worked because eventually Thorin told the story. Bilbo listened, mesmerised, to the dwarf whom he now knew to be King Under the Mountain.

Eventually Bilbo managed to put together the basic facts that he had been waiting for; in the time that Thorin's grandfather Thror had ruled under the Lonely Mountain, Smaug had come, attracted by Thror's hoard of gold. The dragon had destroyed the dwarves' kingdom of Erabor inside the Mountain and the nearby town of Men, Dale. Thror and his son Thrain had escaped through the secret door and Thorin had been outside the Mountain, but many dwarves had not been so lucky. Bilbo shivered at Thorin's account of that dreadful day and the life the surviving dwarves had been forced to live in the years since.

"I have often wondered about my father's and grandfather's escape," Thorin finished. "I now see they must have had a private side door. Apparently they made a map and I should like to know how Gandalf got hold of it." Bilbo wondered at Thorin's tone and, despite the dwarf's less-than-polite challenge, the hobbit couldn't help but respect his courage. Was Thorin brave, or had he crossed the line into foolishness?

"Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger," Bilbo whispered, but nobody heard him. He said this again, many times, in later days, until it became something of a proverb.

"I was given it," Gandalf said, completely calmly. "Your grandfather Thror," he looked at Thorin so intently now that there might have been nobody else in the crowded room, "Was killed in the Mines of Moria by Azog the goblin."

Thorin swore, or at least Bilbo assumed it to be a curse even though he didn't recognise the Dwarvish words.

"And Thrain your father went away a hundred years ago," Gandalf continued, getting a nod from Thorin this time. "Your father gave me this to give to you. He went away to try his luck with the map after your grandfather was killed, but he never got near the Mountain. I found him a prisoner in the dungeons of the Necromancer. I tried to save your father but it was too late. He had forgotten almost everything except the map and the key."

"We must give a thought to the Necromancer," Thorin said, and his deep voice was full of threat.

"Don't be absurd!" Gandalf counselled. "He is an enemy far beyond the powers of all the dwarves put together. The dragon and the Mountain are more than big enough tasks for you!"

Bilbo had no idea who or what the Necromancer was, but he agreed with Gandalf; if it was worse than the dragon, then he didn't want Thorin going anywhere near it. "Hear, hear!" he said, showing his support for Gandalf's good sense, but the dwarves misunderstood.

"Hear what?" they asked, leaving Bilbo to scramble for something suitable to say.


	8. Chapter 07

**Chapter Seven**

"Hear what I have to say!" Bilbo managed. He didn't like the expectant looks surrounding him, and had trouble coming up with anything sensible to add. Worst of all were Thorin and Gandalf, both of whom were waiting for him to say something sensible, relevant and probably clever. "Well I should say that you ought to go," he started. "After all, there is the side door, and dragons must sleep sometimes." He was quite proud of that last point, which he had made up on the spot, and Thorin's lip twitched a little. It wasn't a smile, not by a long way, but it was headed in that direction.

Pleased, Bilbo said, "I think we have talked long enough for one night. What about bed, and an early start? I will give you a good breakfast before you go." Instantly he regretted the last – what had he left to give them for breakfast? As far as Bilbo could remember, he had nothing but the vegetables still underground in his garden and a block of blue cheese, which the dwarves wouldn't eat anyway.

"Before we go, you mean," Thorin interrupted. "But I agree about breakfast." Bilbo gave a little jump but his feeble protests that he had no food left were drowned as Thorin proceeded to state exactly what he wanted to eat the following morning.

As soon as their leader had ordered his breakfast the twelve other dwarves did the same, speaking at the same time and creating such confusion that Bilbo was surprised that he managed not to scream in annoyance. Luckily for everyone, Thorin shouted over the din and silence fell immediately. Again Bilbo didn't recognise the Dwarvish word but he was pleased to hear Thorin's next instructions. "As Mr. Baggins says, we have talked long enough for one night. Find yourselves beds, or somewhere else to sleep, and settle down."

One by one the dwarves filtered out of the dining room. Bilbo felt the tension in his shoulders draining away as they left, but he could still hear the noise they were making. It sounded like they were taking over every corner of his cosy hole. Bilbo wondered if he himself would get any sleep that night. At last, only Bilbo, Thorin and Gandalf remained.

"Bilbo," Gandalf said. "I do wish you had enjoyed our evening a little more."

"I should have liked it much better if I had been able to prepare for it," Bilbo burst out, not forgetting that he was speaking to a wizard but unable to keep the complaint to himself.

"And are you unprepared for breakfast, too?" Thorin asked.

"Well, now you mention it…" Bilbo couldn't finish the sentence.

"And where does one obtain food in these parts?"

"At market!" Bilbo grumbled.

"Hobbits are known for growing vegetables, potatoes and mushrooms," Gandalf cut in, "and some manage small herds of meat animals, milk cows or chickens. A few mill, or fish. They usually swap produce at markets, as Bilbo says, but a quick trip to the Green Dragon would provide you with all you need."

"Green Dragon?" Thorin said suspiciously.

"It's an inn," Bilbo told him. The idea hadn't occurred to him, but now that Gandalf had suggested it, he wondered why he hadn't thought of it himself. "In Bywater. A good hour's walk from here."

"And they could sell you eggs, bacon and so on?"

"Yes, I expect so," Bilbo said. "Hobbits are generous and willing to help others at need." He couldn't help but add the last bit, and Thorin seemed to know exactly what he had meant by it.

"And as your need is because of us, I shall accompany you," the dwarf said, leaving Bilbo feeling very rude indeed.

"And I shall come with you as far as the Green Dragon, but not back again," Gandalf said. "I have business there and this hole is cramped enough as it is." That was saying a lot, given that Bag End was the largest hole in Hobbiton, but it was the truth. "Stop by in the morning and I will arrange for ponies and provisions."

"Very well," Thorin agreed. He stood up and went out into the hallway, where he found his cloak and half-full pack by the front door. He emptied a few things from it, so that there was more space to carry food, and stood waiting whilst Bilbo ran to his little bedroom to fetch the only backpack he owned, a rather large leather one that had always seemed too much for his needs. Now, though, he was glad of the size. He returned to find Gandalf opening the front door.

Hobbits like walking, so long as they don't have to do it for long and there is a mug of ale at the end of the road. A few of the more adventurous hobbits, and Bilbo had been one of these a good twenty or thirty years ago, would even walk at night or camp out under the stars, so long as they were within a few miles of an inn or the home of a good friend where there was sure to be a welcome and a meal.

Bilbo's walking stick, not used for a long time, still stood propped against the umbrella stand. He picked it up as he passed, keen to appear as if he was completely at ease with this sort of adventure and accustomed to the exercise, then followed Gandalf and Thorin out of the door.

The wizard stood up straight and gave a sigh of relief. He had clearly not enjoyed having to stoop beneath Bilbo's ceilings, which were too low for Gandalf, and took advantage of his full height now. Bilbo was a little unsettled at how tall Gandalf was; he had not seen many Men and no wizards. Other than the occasional elf (and he hadn't seen one of those for many years, either) his only experience was with hobbits and now dwarves. He wasn't entirely comforted by the wizard's long legs striding forwards at great speed, and found that he appreciated walking next to Thorin much more than hurrying to keep up with Gandalf.


	9. Chapter 08

**Chapter Eight**

The moon was bright and barely a cloud covered the stars. It was exactly the kind of night that Bilbo used to like best for walking and he was tempted to hum one of his many walking songs as they went. Somehow, though, he didn't think his companions would appreciate it.

An hour is not a long walk for a dwarf, nor for a hobbit who is inclined towards such things. It seemed easy too for the wizard, who was far more capable of exercise than his aging appearance might suggest. When the three reached Bywater they noticed lights shining through the windows of many hobbit holes as well as in the Green Dragon, which they found to be doing a good evening's trade. It was several minutes before they could order a round of ale from the bar, and would have been longer had the woman serving not been interested in the strangers.

"And here's three," the woman said, placing the last mug down in front of Bilbo. "Can I be getting you anything else?"

"Now that you ask," Gandalf said, "We seem to have found ourselves in need of some provisions. Is there someone we could talk to?"

The general chatter and laughter drowned out the barmaid's answer but she disappeared with a smile. A moment later she reappeared and pointed Gandalf out to her companion, who made his way towards them.

"My missus says you'll be wanting provisions," the hobbit said. He had a kind face, round and framed with curly brown hair. "What is it you'll be needing?"

Bilbo thought it best to let Gandalf and Thorin take care of business. He sipped his mug of ale, which for the first time in his life was a whole pint instead of the half usually served in the Shire, and let his thoughts wander. He was surprised to find that he had drunk all but the dregs when Thorin gripped his shoulder.

"I said, pass over your pack."

Bilbo realised that Thorin had probably asked several times before being able to get his attention. He did as requested, and watched as it was packed with eggs, safely tucked inside a bag full of grass to stop them breaking, an entire ham, a stalk of tomatoes and other breakfast foods.

Thorin's grip had been firm; Bilbo could still feel it after the dwarf let him go. He found he didn't mind the sensation, which he might normally have called pain. No doubt it would bruise, but no real damage had been done. He slung his pack onto his back, ready to leave, and found that the strap pressed where he was most sore. Bilbo didn't complain, though, even if he also thought the pack unnecessarily heavy.

"Farewell, until tomorrow." Gandalf made it clear that he was speaking to both Thorin and Bilbo, but Bilbo knew that Thorin didn't share the wizard's high opinion of hobbits. He was completely unaware that Gandalf's high opinion didn't stretch to all hobbits, most of whom are kind and gentle folk but rustic and too fond of home to be of any use in an adventure. All Bilbo understood was that Thorin thought Mr. Baggins to be unequal to the task required of him.

If the truth must be told, Bilbo wasn't completely comfortable with the thought of an hour's walk with no company but the dwarf. He bade Gandalf goodnight and made for the door, wishing he was tucked up in bed with no guests and a full pantry. There was nothing to be done about the situation in his hobbit hole, so Bilbo left the Green Dragon without looking back.

The moment he stepped outside, Bilbo found the inside of the inn to be a very inviting place, despite the crowds and the noise. He would probably have enjoyed the walk, he thought, had he been alone. There wasn't the slightest breath of wind and the temperature hadn't dropped too cold, but it wasn't the weather that made him unhappy with the prospect of the journey home.

As they took the road out of Bywater, Thorin behaved exactly as Bilbo had feared, striding a short way ahead and not speaking to the hobbit. The lights of the village faded away behind them and the road ahead ran further than they could see by the moon and stars. Bilbo didn't bother trying to keep up with Thorin; after all, the way was easy to follow even for those who didn't know the area.

After around a mile, Thorin stopped. Bilbo reached him, and the dwarf marched on at Bilbo's side. Thorin was clearly not tired enough to need a rest, and until he spoke Bilbo didn't know why Thorin had waited.

"Do you feel you know us all well enough to come on this journey?" Thorin asked.

"Know you! I doubt I could name you all!" Bilbo exclaimed. It was hard to tell in the dark, but he thought he saw Thorin smile. It was a look that suited his rugged features nearly as well as the stern authority usually written across his face.

"Try," Thorin said, and it wasn't a request.

"Dwalin arrived first," Bilbo managed without too much difficulty. "Then Balin, and after that it was the two brothers… Kili and Fili. You're Thorin, of course," he added, wondering if he should have said that first. Thorin didn't reply and Bilbo kept on thinking out loud. "Bombur's the one who ate so much cheese," he said, after trying and failing to find a polite way to describe the overweight dwarf. "The youngest is Dori… No, Ori. Dori's older and Nori's the middle brother."

"Good," Thorin said. "Four more."

It soon became clear that Bilbo wasn't going to manage to name any more of the dwarves, so Thorin finished the list for him. "Oin, who carries an ear trumpet and a small chest of medications. Gloin, red hair to match his temper. Bofur has probably already treated you to a tune from his flute, wears a silly cap. Bifur… you might have noticed the axe stuck in his skull. I wouldn't bother talking to him, the injury makes him a little temperamental. He only speaks our Dwarf tongue, anyway."

Bilbo felt his mouth drop open.


	10. Chapter 09

**Chapter Nine**

"Axe? In his skull?" Bilbo asked faintly.

"Like I said, there's no point you talking to him," Thorin said.

"Is there anything else I should know?" Bilbo tried his hardest to sound business-like, but he wasn't sure how successful his attempt had been.

"Balin was my father's friend, and Dwalin my most loyal companion. Fili and Kili are my nephews. I suggest you do not disrespect me in front of them. Or, I should say, in front of any of my company."

The hobbit could do nothing but nod.

"Go to Oin if you are injured or unwell. He is more likely than the rest of us to be of assistance then."

"Good to know," Bilbo said.

"Give your gold to Gloin, he takes care of it for us. And if you are hungry, don't let Bombur near your pack."

Bilbo hadn't been aware that he was meant to be supplying any gold, but he didn't dare mention that small fact. As for Bombur, Bilbo had worked that much out on his own already.

"There is another thing." Thorin wasn't walking as fast as Bilbo feared, and the hobbit found he could keep up with no trouble. "This evening is the first time the Company has been complete. Some of us have known each other for a hundred years, some have only met a few times. You will find your place."

Bilbo nodded, realised that Thorin was looking ahead up the path and stammered, "Thank you, I think."

"What I am trying to say," Thorin carried on as if he had not heard Bilbo, "Is that whilst each and every dwarf here is loyal to me, some do not know each other. Some know each other well. You will find that some, Balin and Dori, for example, are more than merely acquaintances or friends."

Bilbo turned the words over in his head. He had time to take three more steps before he stopped. "You mean they're a couple?" he asked, as if the concept of a relationship was something he had only read about in stories. "Are there… are there no dwarf women?" he added.

"Of course there are dwarf women!" Thorin snapped. "How else would there be dwarf children? And how would they grow into adult dwarves? You do know that adult dwarves are mature dwarf children, correct?"

"I-I guess I didn't think," Bilbo confessed.

"That much is clear," Thorin answered.

Bilbo and Thorin did not speak as the road led them slightly uphill for the next half an hour. Bilbo regretted his question and felt worse the more he thought about it. As the lights of Hobbiton came into view in the distance, he apologised. "I'm sorry," he said, "But the idea of two dwarf men being a couple startled me so much that I didn't use my brain. Of course there must be dwarf women, and very good-looking they are, I'm sure."

"Only if you like your women with beards," Thorin replied, but there was nothing challenging in his tone. If anything there was a hint of amusement, but Bilbo couldn't be sure. He thought about what he wanted to say before he said it.

"I can't personally say I've met a women with a beard, hobbit women don't grow them and the men don't wear them long," he said, trying hard not to offend Thorin.

"Of course not." Thorin laughed this time. "That would be as strange as a dwarf with a tail. Tails are all very well on dogs, but not dwarves."

"I can't disagree with you there." The combination of his mug of ale and the weight of the pack on his back made walking in a straight line rather difficult for Bilbo now. They started the final climb up Bagshot Row to the top of the Hill, Bilbo wishing he'd managed to eat his dinner. For a hobbit to eat nothing between lunchtime and bedtime is very unusual, and the most likely explanation is that the hobbit is ill.

Bilbo, though, had simply been too distressed to eat, and the drink was affecting him more than it would have done under normal circumstances. He puffed as he walked now and didn't join in the laughter. Thorin seemed to be tireless, which of course made Bilbo want to keep up with him.

When Bilbo reached his front door, he saw that there was a mark on it, a G rune, had he known it. The letter was glowing faintly in the moonlight. Thorin saw Bilbo looking and smiled, but the hobbit didn't see it. Bilbo pushed the door open.

"Can I get you anything before bed?" Bilbo asked, doing his best not to blink in the light of the hallway lamp. He slid his pack off his back and held it in front of him, waiting for an answer.

"No, just take this to the pantry," Thorin said, handing over a bundle from his own pack. It smelled strongly of fresh bread. Bilbo slid his pack back onto his sore shoulder so he could carry the bundle as well. He was about to say goodnight when the dwarf turned down the corridor towards the only guest bedroom with the light still on.

"Oh, bother," Bilbo muttered. He made his way to the pantry, where he sorted out all the food by himself. It gave him the opportunity to leave a few coarse oatcakes in his pack, which he then took to his own bedroom. The hobbit was tired, and not thinking completely sensibly, as he refilled the pack with the things that he thought might be necessary, should he leave with the dwarves in the morning.

When Bilbo eventually climbed into bed, he lay staring at the ceiling for a long time before eventually falling asleep. Would he join the dwarves, become part of Thorin's company and journey to far-off places to fight dragons? He had offered his help and felt that he shouldn't go back on the promise, but the idea scared Bilbo so much that he shook, even tucked up under his warm covers. It would be dangerous, unpleasant and most certainly would mean that he would have to miss a few meals, all things that hobbits took great care to avoid.

As Bilbo drifted off, he knew that the decision wouldn't be made until morning.


End file.
